


sweet baby, I need fresh blood

by mwildsides



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwildsides/pseuds/mwildsides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://norsekink.livejournal.com/7418.html?thread=15127290#t15127290">this</a> prompt on norsekink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet baby, I need fresh blood

Loki is washing his hands off in the sink, shirt and slacks gone, tossed in the metal trash can in the middle of Thor’s kitchen. The blond himself is a few feet down the counter, preparing two cups of tea with hands that shake so hard, he’s just barely managing to get the boiling water in the cups. His breathing is just this side of hyperventilating, and has been since his brother showed up at his door, shaking too, covered in blood, his green eyes wild. Why Thor had even let him in was beyond his reasoning, but he did and now they were standing in silence in his kitchen. Who it was this time it didn’t matter, all that mattered now was sopping up their blood from the tiles where Loki had tracked it in.

While his brother scrubs his fingernails fastidiously, Thor leans back against the counter, staring at the blood smeared over the floor of _his_ kitchen, unseeing and, mostly, unfeeling. At this point their wasn’t much left to feel. Fear of being caught had come and gone with the higher body count, anger and resentment toward both himself and Loki was a thing of the past, some of the first things he’d felt when this shit storm started. Now he just doesn’t care. He’s careful, he takes his time to cover their tracks, just like Loki does, but he doesn’t fucking care what happens after this. 

Well, for the most part. He doesn’t want to go to jail, or get Loki killed, or any variations of those two things, but he’s tired. He’s really tired of it. He’d like it if he and Loki could just get the fuck out of dodge and try to have a normal-...it’s an idiotic thought, their lives were _never_ normal, not when they were crawling into each others beds at fifteen, not when Loki was cutting the heads off squirrels at 18, and not when they’d met again for the first time in 8 years and Thor had fucked Loki so god damn hard he couldn’t walk the next day. 

“You look tired.” Loki comments off handedly and looks over at Thor. His face is so serene, completely devoid of any emotion. He didn’t always look like that, he smiled and frowned and pouted like he always had, and maybe that was why he was so good at what he did. Thor runs a hand through his hair, and nods. 

“Loki, don’t.” He murmurs, looking away from the grisly scene in the kitchen. The sun has long since set; it’s about 2 AM, which is usually when Loki chooses to drop by. Thor wasn’t asleep anyway. Loki turns the water off, shaking his hands dry in the sink, then looks at Thor with wide, curious eyes. 

“Don’t do what? Worry about you?” He says cooly, moving away from the sink, fingertips dripping water onto the tile below him. There’s still blood in splotches over his chest and stomach where it had seeped through his shirt, but he moves close to Thor anyway. 

“Fuck--worry about me? Are you kidding me? If you ever _worried_ about anyone besides yourself, you would have left me the fuck alone.” The blond spits, upper lip curling in disgust. Loki frowns a little, cocking his head to the side as he stalks toward his brother. 

“Oh love. If you had wanted that, you would have turned me in long ago. Used those handcuffs the way they’re really made to be used, hmm?” He purred, raising his elegant, dark eyebrows. Thor’s jaw clenched, lips pressed together as he huffed a breath through his nose. 

It was definitely true, no matter how incredibly, wildly, astronomically fucked this situation was, Thor never put a stop to any of it. He was fucking his brother, who _murdered_ people, for christ sake, but never once really...second guessed it. He loved Loki in some depraved, twisted way, but that had defined their relationship since childhood. They weren’t really blood, of course, but Thor felt that obligation to him after so many years convinced that he was. Thor had been a little relieved when his father told him Loki wasn’t his, because it made what they had done not _quite_ as sick. 

Still, this wasn’t anywhere near healthier than thinking you had an incesstual relationship with your little brother.  
Loki’s spindly hands were on him then, cold from the water and red from scrubbing them so hard, rubbing over Thor’s stomach and side through his thin cotton shirt. The blond half-heartedly pushes those searching hands away because he’s not in the fucking mood, just not tonight. He’s exhausted, after six full days at the office, he just wants some respite from this bad movie that is his life. 

“Are you pouting? What are you pouting about, Thor?” Loki draws back a bit, face screwing up with a frown, “Did I wake you? Interrupt something?” He murmurs and leans in again. He drags his fingernails up Thor’s stomach, and this time he doesn’t fight it, just refuses to look at the man at his side. 

“Not tonight.” He manages, through clenched teeth, and Loki sighs. 

“You need sleep, my sweet boy, you work so ha-”  
Before Loki can finish his sentence, Thor has whirled on him, one thick, weathered hand clamped around the slender column of his brother’s neck. 

“What I need, Loki, is your head on a platter,” Thor seethes, leaning in close. His whole body pins Loki’s back against the counter, but as per usual, the dark-haired man doesn’t seem to mind. Those eyes of his are wild again, thin, curved lips parted and wearing some semblance of a smirk, even as Thor’s fingers begin to squeeze the breath out of him. 

“A-are...you going-going to....ki-kill me, Thor?” He wheezes, trying to smile. Thor squeezes harder. 

“I should, shouldn’t I? Save at least a few more lives,” Not innocent ones, not from Loki anyway, but still, “How does it feel?” He speaks only inches away from his brother’s face, teeth bared like an animal. That’s what Loki has turned him into, what Loki _is_. 

“Feels-....feels like I can’t breathe.” Loki manages quickly, letting his eyes flutter halfway closed as a choked sort of ... _moan_ rises in his throat. Though if it’s in protest or encouragement, Thor can never be sure. It makes him even more enraged, and he squeezes so Loki frowns, looks like he’s genuinely in pain. 

And all of a sudden Thor can sort of get why Loki does it, then, when he looks at his brother’s face, feels that lithe body bow against the bulk of his own. 

But no--

With a strangled sort of whimper, Thor releases Loki, turning away from him immediately to the island, breathing heavily though he hadn’t done a thing. He can hear Loki sputtering for breath, it vaguely registers, but he’s too focused on the fact that he’s--his blood is rushing in a way it shouldn’t, a familiar feeling rising low in his gut that makes him feel just as low as his brother. 

Behind him, Loki’s wheezing turns into laughter, a ragged, panting thing, as he pushes away from the counter. There will be purple bruises on the alabaster skin of his throat tomorrow, one’s he’ll no doubt revel in. 

“Oh dear...” Loki sighs, voice smiling, “Perhaps it runs in our blood then, the want to take life.” He tips his chin up proudly as he stands straight, though Thor cannot see. 

“I didn’t mean to kill you.” Thor growls, rocking his weight against his hands that grip the marble of the counter. 

“No, just show me what it’s like, apparently. Teach me a lesson?” 

Thor’s silence is answer enough. 

“You know your dad taught me well enough what it’s like to suffer at the hands of someone else. He did it for nights in a row.”  
Thor knew very well what his father had done, and didn’t like thinking about it now. The man was long dead, old and sick and no one had pitied him when he passed. 

“And you, my darling boy, are not your father,” Suddenly, Loki is pressed up against his brother’s strong, broad back, “At least not yet.” One spindly arm drapes over Thor’s shoulder, the other curling around his ribs, both hands splaying on his pectorals. 

Thor doesn’t know what to say, just closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing, anger seeping from him. More than that, more than he hated his brother, was angry with him, he was tired. He wanted a decent night’s sleep, something he hadn’t had in over a year. Loki drew a hand up to pull the blond hair away from the back of Thor’s neck, pressing a few gentle kisses there. Thor sighs, eyes slipping closed as he moves his head a little, twisting his head. Loki is shorter than him by less than two inches, so when they move just so, their mouths meet in a gentle kiss. Ones so soft and chaste like this were rare, almost night unheard of, because normally their kisses are a battle for dominance, or to distract. 

This one tastes like an apology, one Thor knows he’ll never get, and maybe doesn’t deserve, but he takes it anyway.

 

In the morning he’ll go to work, sit in his office, until Nick Fury, chief of police comes in and silently slaps a file folder down on his desk, the contents of which brief him on Loki’s latest victim. He’s eviscerated, a gruesome mess and barely recognizable, but Thor just sips at his coffee, because there’s nothing he can do.


End file.
